103 Ways to Show You Care Without Saying It
by dcat8888
Summary: A long weekend and the flu bug hit Mark and Milt, send comments to


**Title: 103 Ways To Show You Care (Without Actually Saying it) **

**This is a Hardcastle and McCormick fanfic. I did not invent these characters, we can thank Patrick Hasburgh and Stephen J. Cannell for that. No infringement is intended. 1-15-07 **

Rated: K

Notes:This is my first H&M fanfic, though I've written other fanfic's before. I hope I captured their characters. If you'd like to comment, good or bad, (I prefer good!) I will welcome receiving your emails. Most of all, I hope you enjoy it.

The movie was over and it was just past midnight. Aside from the shimmering light from the TV, the den was dark. Hardcastle looked up from the TV and over to McCormick, but just as he was about to say something he noticed the kid was fast asleep on the leather sofa. He stopped himself from calling out to him and his thoughts drifted to how in just a short time, the two men had formed a unique friendship of sorts. This particular weekend, it was just the two of them at Gull's Way, as Sarah, Hardcastle's housekeeper, had taken the weekend off to spend time with her sister up the coast. The two men were in the midst of a junk-food, John Wayne movie-fest, since Sara wasn't there to make sure they ate right or did their allotted chores around the estate. The TV in the den became the center of their world. Chip bags, soda cans, pizza boxes and cookie packages were scattered about. They had wrapped up the latest case they had worked on and Hardcastle decided that the two of them could use a couple of days of leisure that just happened to coincide with Sarah being gone.

McCormick wasn't about to argue, a somewhat 'free' weekend allowed him to settle in to this new life of his. He couldn't quite nail down what he thought of the whole situation, other than he really liked it. As he'd watched the movie with Hardcase, he thought about how good it felt to be living in this house, which was quickly becoming a home, his home. How strange those words sounded to him, but no matter how it sounded, it really felt right. He would never be so presumptuous to suggest that out loud to Hardcastle, but maybe some day he could. He even had his own little gatehouse for some added privacy, but he did enjoy the easy camaraderie he was falling into with the Judge. He didn't mind at all sharing space and the Judge was more generous with his home than Mark ever thought anyone could be. He wouldn't soon forget the simply wonderful emotion that came over him the first night he actually slept in the gatehouse in his own bed, so to speak. A real bed, not a bunk or cot or a cheap hotel room or a friend's cheap apartment, and it would be his bed 'indefinitely.' A small smile crossed his face. Mark glanced over at his new-found friend and couldn't help but give a silent prayer of sorts for the chance that he'd been given. It was like a movie script itself, a fairy tale, who would believe that a retired Judge would give this kind of opportunity to an ex-con? He knew he'd never forget it, even if he lived to be a million. The only questions he had were could he ever live up to the expectation and could he ever 'pay it back?' He let another half-smile pass over his face as he watched the Judge intently glued to the John Wayne movie. God sure broke the mold when he made this cantankerous but lovable donkey. He stretched out on the sofa with all sorts of crazy thoughts going through his head. His eyes closed gradually as he felt a slight headache forming around his temples. He kicked off his Nike's to the floor and in just a few minutes, settled in a little deeper into the fold of the couch and soon drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Now, it was Friday night or very early Saturday morning and Hardcastle was surprised that McCormick had drifted off. It was a first actually. They'd had several of these 'movie nights' already and the kid usually kept a running monologue going through every one of them, much to the consternation of Milt, who couldn't understand why the kid couldn't just watch the movie, enjoy it and save his comments for later. But then again, McCormick had a smart aleck comment just about all the time and about every subject. It did seem nearly sacrilegious to Milt though, when it came to John Wayne. Movies were meant to be watched and discussed after they were over. Yet Hardcastle found himself battling wits with his charge time and time again and secretly enjoying it all the while. The kid gave him a new life. What Hardcastle found odd this night was that McCormick, who barely got more than 5 hours of sleep on any given night, was sleeping already. That hadn't happened to date, maybe, Hardcastle surmised, that the kid's poor habits were catching up with him. The only thing McCormick ever gave a work out to was his mouth. Where his energy came from Hardcastle didn't know, but if it was related to his over-zealous eating habits, it started to make some sense. His food bill had all but tripled since he brought him home from the County lock-up. Tonight alone, the kid had polished off two large pizzas' all by himself earlier in the evening and around 11pm was starting in on the 4th. They'd ordered 4, Milt had managed to polish off one and about ¾ of the 4th one still remained. Maybe the gorging was catching up on him. If Hardcastle would have been a shrink, the kid would be easy to figure out. This was probably the first time since McCormick was a small child that he had any semblance of a home life. And McCormick was literally and figuratively eating up everything. It didn't bother Milt in the slightest that the kid had an appetite or that he made himself comfortable in his new surroundings, he was glad the kid was making himself to home. He didn't want to be an enemy, or a boss or a warden.

Hardcastle started to open up his mouth to wake the kid up, but just as he was about to, the kid sort of snuggled down deeper into the couch, trying to make himself even more comfortable than he currently was and obviously drifting off further into a deeper sleep. The kid had kicked off his familiar blue Nike's, which were sitting upside down by the end of the couch, where they had obviously fallen after being kicked off. He had on a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Hardcastle shook his head ever so slightly and let out a tired exhale of his own. It had only been a little over a month and this kid had already worked his way into his heart. He never would have guessed that would happen. It was like having another son around, something Hardcase had almost erased from his memory. Milt would have never predicted that in a million years, but he welcomed it nonetheless, who wouldn't? Granted he cared about a lot of people, and some who knew Milt questioned this feeling of his toward a two-time loser, an ex-con no less, someone that Milt had sent up himself. They'd seen him try this same scenario a few times already and it had never worked. The young men that had come before McCormick never worked out. Some reverted back to criminal activities and a few of them just didn't want to live under the scrutiny of Hardcastle. And so Hardcastle's friends questioned why he chose to try again and why McCormick? He didn't have a specific reason to give them and Milt never cared what other people thought anyway. What was surprising was how the kid had managed to work himself into his heart so quickly was a little confusing to Milt. Life could sure have its ups and downs and he didn't understand how life worked a lot of the time, but he wasn't about to argue with this new situation. A new friend was a new friend, even if it had the makings of a father/son relationship and helping point someone on the straight and narrow was a good thing. A chance to be a father or a mentor again, that was worth gold. Maybe it was just a two-way street. Milt was sure the kid probably felt the same way. Sure they argued and got frustrated with one another, but they also teased and joked with each other and learned from one another. It was give and take, and as the time went on, they were falling into a pleasant routine of sorts. Neither of them, however, would ever outwardly admit to this experiment working, even though it was. Maybe both of them never would. Love was a strange thing.

And now, seeing him sleeping soundly and peacefully, he just didn't have the heart to rouse the kid up and shag him off to the gatehouse, not when he was so obviously comfortable where he was and it was late, Milt reasoned, as if he needed to convince himself to let the kid sleep in the main house. The main house was his house too. It was just like having a kid around again. And Hardcastle had missed that. He missed having his son and all the things they had shared together. He got up from the chair he sat in and shut off the TV. How the kid managed to fall asleep during the climatic scene of John Wayne shooting up the bad guys, Hardcastle didn't understand, but he'd continue to work on turning the kid into a "Duke" fan if given enough time. He nearly tiptoed past the kid to exit the room and saw that he didn't even stir. "He's out like a third-string fighter in a third-string fight, out cold, down for the 10 count," Milt mumbled under his breath. Out into the hall he went and into the nearby closet, where he pulled out one of his wife's knitted afghan's. If the kid was gonna sleep there all night, he might as well make him comfy.

He walked back into the den as quietly as possible and opened up the afghan and spread it over McCormick as best he could. The kid took to it immediately, like a fish to water, and drew it closer around his body. He was really out like a light. That gave pause to Hardcastle again. His lip curled up just a tiny bit, to give the hint of a smile. The kid must really think of this as his home if he's sleeping so soundly. That in and of itself made Hardcastle happy. He wanted the kid to think of it as his home, he wanted the kid to see that he was deserving of good things and good friends in life and that all he needed was someone to give him a chance. Milt was proud to give him that chance. He sure didn't want to think of him as a prisoner, slave or some sort of work release employee, something that earlier versions of the Judge's rehabilitation projects had often thought. But the Judge wanted this to be more than a project or an experiment, he wanted it to work. He wanted to make a difference in someone's life. Not that he hadn't made a difference in people's lives from sitting on the bench for thirty years, but this idea had been stirring inside him for awhile now. He saw himself as an old man who was slowing down, yet with plenty of vigor for life, recently retired and sometimes lonely, with a lot of house and no one to share it with. Well, that could play havoc with one's mind. His physical well-being, well, that he could continue to maintain through eating right and working out, but keeping his mind active and heart open were equally important too. Maybe the loss of his wife and son had something to do with it and maybe it was selfish to some degree, but if the end result was turning someone's life into something positive, it couldn't be all that bad, could it?

Anyway, McCormick was different from the other con's he'd tried this with. McCormick had a sharp mind and an overly smart mouth, but he also had a somewhat hidden, somewhat broken, but ever-present soft spot in his heart for right and wrong. Unfortunately for the kid, sometimes he used doing the wrong thing to achieve the right ending. That was how they met actually, the now infamous 'Porsche' episode. It was something Hardcastle knew he would have to work on with the kid. Within days of McCormick moving into the gatehouse, the Judge quickly realized the kid wasn't a flight risk, wasn't interested in ever going back to prison, wanted to do the right thing and had the heart the size of California, he just kept it hidden a lot of the time, probably because it had been scarred to many times already in his young life. And the smart mouth was probably a cover up for how deeply he felt things. Shortly there after, he knew, he just knew, that he could trust the kid with anything, his property, doing the right thing, and even his own life if need be. What it came down to was the kid cared and the kid had integrity, both rare gifts. Most of all, McCormick was fiercely loyal. And that was good enough for Hardcastle. There'd been some bumps along the way, but nothing they couldn't overcome together. Sometimes it was a clash of generations, sometimes stubbornness, sometimes they fought like fathers and sons, but like any sort of relationship, they maintained respect and quickly worked out their differences and moved on, which resulted in a deeper, more meaningful friendship.

Hardcastle glanced around the room and headed out, closing the door behind him as he exited. "Too bad the kid missed the ending of the movie," he murmured to the house as he shut off the hall light and headed off to his bedroom upstairs.

At 6:25 am, Hardcastle came down the stairs, armed with his basketball. The door to the den was still closed, so he knew McCormick was obviously still in there sleeping. He half thought about busting in and challenging to an early morning game of gorilla-ball, but something prevented him doing so. Milt proceeded outside to begin his usual daily routine of morning basketball. Since the hoop was over by the gatehouse, there'd be no real chance for him to wake up McCormick by playing on this gray morning. It was late January and there was an obvious chill to the air, even for Southern California. He was glad he had a sweatshirt on.

With or without the Judge's basketball routine, McCormick usually would roll out of bed by the time Judge was finished, about an hour later, so when Milt walked back to the main house, he expected to see McCormick up and about in the kitchen, reading his paper, eating his food, ready to smart off about something, and eventually ready to head over to the gatehouse for a shower and eventually to do some chores around the estate. Instead, when he walked in, the den's door was still closed. Hardcastle went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice and decided it was time to shag the kid awake. He couldn't let him to get too comfortable after all. He wanted to him to change the oil in his corvette this morning and now was as good a time as any to get him moving.

He was about to bust into the den and start shouting, but there was that strange feeling again that halted him from doing so. Rather, he opened the door normally and saw that the kid was still sleeping, though the afghan was kicked off for the most part, except for where it covered his shins and his feet and the kid's face looked rather flushed. He paused and took note that the room wasn't overly hot to cause the kid's skin to look so red.

From the doorway he called out in a normal voice, "Hey McCormick, you gonna sleep all day or what?" From his vantage point on the steps he saw the kid simply roll over, with his face toward the back of the couch. He called him again and came closer, "McCormick, hey kiddo, wake up, it's nearly 8am. Let's get going huh?"

This time he got a slight rise out of the kid, who slowly turned over and blinked his eyes blearily. It was obvious he was trying to figure out exactly where he was. "What? What time is it?" he asked, running his hand over his sleepy face.

"Almost 8," Hardcastle answered. "You missed a helluva good movie last night."

Mark pushed himself up to a sitting position and wondered where the afghan had come from, knowing it could only be from Hardcastle. His head pounded and his body ached as he sat up and he let out a tiny groan. "8 o'clock? You let me sleep in here all night?" he asked, surprised that Hardcastle had actually let him stay in the main house.

"Well, I did think it was rude that you fell asleep during the climax of the movie, a JOHN WAYNE CLASSIC, no less, but I wasn't about to carry you over to the gatehouse, and tuck you in. You were out like a light kid."

"Why didn't you just wake me up? You've done that before," McCormick said sarcastically. In mock fashion he added, "Hey kiddo, get your lazy butt over to your own house and go to bed, the movie's over." Then he fell back into his normal tone, "In fact, you probably would have enjoyed it, making me walk over to the gatehouse in the middle of the night, all by myself, out in the cold." The kid poured on the sarcasm.

Hardcastle didn't really have a comeback for him, so he changed the subject, "There's a lot of stuff to do around here today, wise guy, so let's get moving huh?"

McCormick nodded and added a sincere apology, "Sorry Judge, I really didn't mean to fall asleep, it just sorta happened. I missed the end of the movie didn't I? Let me guess, John Wayne killed all the bad guys, got the girl and rode off into the sunset?" Mark chuckled and begged forgiveness all at the same time as he rubbed his temple's trying to keep his head from pounding. He had a massive size headache forming. "You should have woken me up."

Hardcastle noticed the kid rubbing his head. He just didn't look right. "Maybe sleeping on that sofa wasn't the best thing for you? You got a headache or something?"

Mark leaned his head back and began to realize he ached from head to toe. He knew what it was right away. This was the kind of aching you got from the flu, not from sleeping on a sofa. He groaned again as he rolled his neck, feeling the deep ache all through his body. "Yeah, I need an aspirin, I think."

"What's a matter?" The Judge asked, seeing McCormick's face contort. It was more than a headache. The Judge noticed that the kid's coloring was still flush, even though he was sitting up now.

"Nothing, you're probably right, I shouldn't have slept on the couch," Mark tried to pass it off. He tried to think of how he was going to get to the gatehouse without the Judge hounding him all the way. No way was he about to let on that he might possibly be sick. "Let me go grab a shower and I'll get on that oil change ok?"

As he tried to stand up a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him all at once that he almost fell back to the couch. The Judge standing nearby clearly noticed the unsteadiness and was about to say something, as Mark quickly recovered his balance but then his stomach convinced him to race to the bathroom instead.

When he came out of the nearby room, he rested by leaning heavily against the wall as he walked back toward the den. His brain felt like it was swimming inside his skull and staying upright was getting harder to do. He knew by then that Hardcastle knew had wretched, they probably heard it down on the beach and he'd be wanting some sort of explanation. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the woodwork, which soothed the hot skin of his cheek. "Must have been the mushrooms on the pizza from last night," he began, trying to make light of how bad he really felt and also trying to avert having the flu.

Hardcastle was now sitting behind his desk, looking over a file. "Nonsense, I ate the same pizza than you did, and I feel fine, so what's going on?"

He managed a wry smile and said, "Well, you see Judge, after you went to bed, I woke up, went out and drank ever bit of liquor down at Jake's Bar, I got back here about 5am and now, well, now you see the end result. I guess I just don't know my limit."

"Cute McCormick, but I happen to know you've been sleeping here all night," the Judge began, walking from over by the desk to McCormick who was still standing in the doorway. "In fact you fell asleep before midnight, which is something you never do." When he got to him, he grabbed him by the arm and led him back to the sofa and pointed to him to sit down. In an unusual move, he put the back of his hand on McCormick's forehead. "Uh huh," was the only comment he made.

"Uh huh, what?" McCormick asked, sounding like a 10 year-old, pushing Hardcastle's hand off his forehead. "What are you doing?"

"You got a fever, must be some flu or something, why didn't you just say so?" Milt said. "Your forehead is burning up."

Mark nodded no, "There's nothing wrong with me Judge, honest." He started to stand up. "I don't have a fever, or the flu, I feel fine, really. I think it's just sleeping on this couch. I'm not used to sleeping on leather, maybe I'm allergic to it."

The judge put his hand out and hit McCormick in the chest softly. "Sit down, or I'll knock you down, wise guy and I'm betting the way you feel right now, it won't take much for me to knock you down."

"Judge, I'm not sick really, I just must have ate something that didn't agree with me, that's all." His equilibrium was at it again and McCormick plunked lightly down back onto the sofa, as he still felt queasy. He didn't have the strength needed to go verbally or physically with Hardcastle right now. And it was getting worse by the second.

The lawyer in the judge kicked in. "Here are the facts kid, you got a fever, your face is flushed, I'm betting you got head and body aches, you overslept cuz you feel like crap and you just coughed up the contents of your stomach in my bathroom. That's the flu. Now crawl under those covers and I'll bring you some oatmeal."

"Oatmeal? What?" Mark touched his own forehead trying to determine if he was indeed feverish and if he heard the Judge actually suggest oatmeal. "Judge, really, I don't need a mother."

"Good, cuz I'm not your mother and yeah, oatmeal, cuz it's good for you, it'll soothe your stomach, now that it's empty. I can't afford to have you all sick on me now, we got cases to work on. I'll be right back with a thermometer to check your temperature," he said, noticing Mark's actions. "Cover up will ya? Don't make it any worse than it already is."

Mark shook his head at this new version of Hardcase, part nurse, part parent. It was all more than a little strange and as bad as he felt at the current moment, he didn't give it much more thought. His mind turned to the topsy turvey feeling in his head and in his stomach. McCormick went for the afghan with his other hand and wrapped it around his body. He had to admit it did feel good. He suddenly felt cold, must have been the bathroom episode that caused that, he thought. Hardcastle had quickly dashed out of the room and McCormick half wondered if he should try to make a break for the gatehouse. Just then a shiver passed through him along with a wave of nausea and he decided against making any kind of 'escape.' "This is just great," McCormick said quietly. "First, I fall asleep in his house, then I wake up late and puke in his bathroom. Way to make a good impression McCormick. He's gonna think I'm an idiot." Another wave of shiver passed through his body. Even though a month had passed, he still found himself wanting to live up to the chance that the Judge was giving him. He didn't want to make any mistakes or screw-up so that the Judge would revoke his parole. Maybe in time he wouldn't be quite so conscious of the opportunity he'd been given and he'd take things a little stressfully. But right now he fought hard to live up to the expectation the Judge had for him and that meant live like the Judge, not a simple thing for an ex-con to do. And it wasn't easy to keep up with the Lone Ranger either. McCormick had a lot to live up to, a 30+ year career with the Los Angeles Superior Court, a highly respected jurist, former cop, husband, father. It was like living with George Washington, Gandhi and Solomon all rolled up into one, part leader, part hero, part father, part friend, living legend. And throw in the Judge's physical conditioning, well it made McCormick's head spin. Living up to the Judge was more than a challenge, it was damn near impossible. But even if it took the rest of his life to somehow 'pay back' the Judge, he was going to do it. The opportunity that Hardcastle had given him was beyond his wildest imagination. This was his chance to literally start his life over, a clean slate, a do-over. He wanted to take every advantage of it that he could and turn his life around from what it had been into something it could be. He could learn from this and turn his life around. Something great, something extraordinary, and something he could be proud of. Wimping out on him by falling asleep on his couch in his house and then getting sick, that wasn't exactly a stellar payback. _I bet the Judge has never been sick in his life_, he thought as he tried to warm up under the afghan. He needed to get up and get to work, and keep how he was feeling in check, no matter how crummy it was. And he sure did feel crummy. Maybe after the oatmeal, he could just make his way back to the gatehouse and Hardcastle would just let him ride out whatever it was that he had contracted, out of his view. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden to the Judge or to show any weakness. The Judge outwardly did not tolerate frailty, McCormick learned that very quickly. The only thing unclear to him right now was why Hardcastle was being so 'motherly.'

Just then the Judge came romping back into the den, carrying a thermometer. "I knew my wife had one of these around here. It was upstairs in the bathroom. Probably haven't used it in years. But I bet it still works. Ok kiddo, open up and put it under your tongue."

McCormick wasn't quite ready to have his temperature taken. "Judge, this isn't necessary. So what if I have a fever? It wouldn't be the first time, and it probably won't be the last." He pursed his lips together and looked over to Hardcastle who held out the thermometer and who wasn't backing down. "I'll tell you what, I'll eat your oatmeal and then I'll just go crawl into bed at the gatehouse. Give me 24 hours and I'll be fine, I promise. I still think it's something I ate. It's just a 24-hour thing probably."

"Nonsense, a fever isn't something to mess around with, so open up," he insisted. He knew he wouldn't win this one with the Judge. McCormick waited about a half second and did as he was told, regretting it the whole time. "And you're not going to stay out in the gatehouse, you probably caught whatever this is out there in that drafty loft. I'll just fix you up a room upstairs. I'll turn up the heat in here and we'll sweat it out of you."

McCormick just wanted to lie down and sleep, he certainly was in no mood to jaw with the Judge. And with the mercury filled glass tube sticking out of his mouth, he couldn't say much anyway. He felt ridiculous. "Twisss es schtupud," he mumbled.

"It's not stupid," the Judge responded, understanding what he had just said. "You're no good to anyone if you've got the flu." The Judge stood by and waited about three minutes and then practically yanked the thermometer out of McCormick's mouth.

"Judge, you don't get the flu from a drafty loft, it's probably just food poisoning. I mean, thanks for your concern, but I'll be ok." Hardcastle continued to give him the 'you're going to do what I say' stare. "Ok, but I'm not staying in a room upstairs, this couch is just fine!" was the first thing out of his mouth, followed by "what's it say?" Mark asked, gathering the afghan tightly around him.

"103, wow, that's really a fever you got going there kid," the Judge said squinting to read it. "You better lay back there and rest." Even Milt was surprised by the number. "Maybe I should call up the doctor?"

"A doctor? No, now come on, I don't need a doctor, really Judge, it's not that bad. Let me see that," he said, grabbing the thermometer and seeing it really read 103. "Judge, really, I don't feel that bad, why don't I just go and take a shower and change the oil on the corvette. I can knock off early after I do that, if that'll make you happy. I promise, straight to bed I'll go."

"No work for you today, the car can wait. Lay down, I'll get the oatmeal," Hardcastle said as he headed to the kitchen. "Is there anything else you want?"

Mark shook his head no, the only thing he wanted was to just fall asleep, he felt another round of bile building inside his stomach and he quickly shed the afghan and ran toward the bathroom again. When the wave was over and he managed to stumble back into the den, Hardcastle sat in the chair across from the sofa with a hot bowl of oatmeal.

"I hope you're gonna listen to me now hotshot. Here's your oatmeal," the Judge thrust the bowl toward him.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Listen Judge, I know you mean well, but I just don't think my stomach is up for any oatmeal right now. It feels like the Jazzmasters are putting on one of their finest concerts ever in there. I think I just want to sleep, if that's ok?"

Milt nodded his understanding, "Sure it's ok, I'll just leave it here if you change your mind." The Judge set the bowl down and started to leave. "You should just rest, that's the best thing for you. Let it run it's course."

Mark sort of let himself fall back onto the sofa and robotically grabbed at the afghan and covered himself with it. There wasn't a spot on his body that felt normal. Even the curls on his head hurt. And he couldn't stop shivering. This crazy judge was something else alright. He tried to focus on his thoughts about the Judge, rather than on how his body felt and for a little while it seemed to work. He first thought looking back at his current situation was that his life was on some sort of rollercoaster, some sort of chaotic mish mash of uncertainty. None of it seemed real. Who'd give an ex-con with another GTA offense a chance at changing his life? Certainly not the crazy judge who had already sent him up once. But upon further examination, he began to realize that it was with the Judge and because of the Judge, that he was indeed finding purpose and stabilization, something before that, he had not really known. His past was the rollercoaster, his future, still somewhat uncertain, but the present, well he felt more at peace and more content than he could ever recall. He definitely had a road to travel on now, one that he could see a destination to and he wasn't alone either. He could look to the Judge for advice, support and for friendship. The more he learned about the Judge, the deeper the respect that Mark for him. At first glance Milton Hardcastle was pretty cut and dry, right and wrong, good and bad, but as the layers began to erode between the two of them, Mark began to realize just how multi-faceted he really was. It had just been a short time ago when Mark had discovered that the Judge had had a son. Hardcastle told him that he wasn't a replacement for him, and as he said the words to Mark, maybe that was what Milt did believe, but it wasn't what Mark believed. Maybe he wasn't a replacement, he knew the Judge cared about him in his own way, in a new spot in his heart, so to speak. If he didn't, he wouldn't still be at Gull's Way, that's what McCormick thought, especially when he learned that the Judge had tried this little experiment before and it had never worked. Hardcastle could be abrasive on the surface to some, even to McCormick. Mark liked to look deeper and listen harder and what he saw and heard was a man with a heart of gold. And to Mark, Hardcastle had already become a father figure. Someone he could look up to and respect and honor and most of all love. All the things deserving of every father.

He must have drifted off to sleep because it was about an hour later when the temperature of his body had completely changed. He woke up and pushed off the two blankets that now covered him. Hardcastle must have put out another blanket. But now he was burning up. Only one thing remained the same, and that was the sour feeling in his stomach. He swallowed hard, trying to delay the inevitable. It wasn't going to last long though and he sat up quickly, then stood and again made his way toward the bathroom. The Judge appeared in the doorway just as he was going through. "I thought you were sleeping?" The Judge said, as Mark brushed past him.

"I was, but nature calls, 'scuse me'," he said, continuing on his path, pushing past him.

Hardcastle went into the den to await McCormick's return. He sat down in the chair opposite the sofa and waited.

Nearly ten minutes passed when McCormick came slowly down the steps and went immediately back to the couch and to the blankets. Hardcastle was quite taken by the fact that even though Mark had a fever of 103, and had already been in the bathroom more times than he could count, that he didn't complain at all about how miserable he really must feel. And that he'd even suggested doing chores today. Hardcastle was amazed that the things he thought McCormick would complain about, he didn't. In fact, he was even joking with him about being sick. He was taking the flu in stride as something that just happened.

"What are you staring it?" McCormick asked him. "You never seen someone with the flu before?" He began to wrap the blankets around his body. He knew he must have looked like death warmed over, since that's what he felt like.

Hardcastle had to chuckle, the kid was psychic and as horrible as he must have been feeling, he still found the time to use his smart mouth. "Listen I have a new case I want to go over with you," he began to tease him back. He thought the kid would severely protest, but the kid surprised him again.

Mark rolled his head, not believing his ears. Only this crazy Judge would get wound up about some criminal and want to plan out how to catch him. But this was Hardcastle, and this is what Hardcastle did now and so Mark gave him the benefit of doubt. It must be something important. "Ok, give me the facts, who do we need to chase after now? What low life could be running lose on a day like today and what did they do to tick you off?" He tried to take a deep breath and added, "And you better know right now that this is waiting till my fever breaks. Either that or you're doing the driving, cuz I'll be leaning out the window vomiting."

Hardcastle grinned from ear to ear, Mark was willing to hear about the next proposed case. "I'm just teasing, you're not going anywhere. But I'm going down to the drugstore, I'm going to pick up some stuff that maybe will make you feel a little better. Are you going to be ok to stay here alone?"

"What, you think I need a babysitter? Where am I gonna go Judge? I got the couch, the blankets, the bathroom, a bowl of cold oatmeal and a crazy judge to take my temperature. What else could I possibly need?"

"I'm just asking, you know?" said Hardcastle defensively.

"Judge I don't think I could make it to the front door right now, don't worry, Tonto will guard homestead till Lone Ranger returns with magic medicine," he said, scooting down to sleeping position. "Just go, hopefully when you get back, I'll have miraculously recovered, either that or I'll be dead." He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off to sleep.

Hardcastle waited for a few minutes before he left, and when he was sure McCormick had drifted off, he got up and went off to the drugstore. He didn't notice the headache that was forming behind his eyes.

Milt came back to the house with three bags worth of products. Pain relievers, aspirin, cold and flu remedies, cough drops, syrups, a heating pad, ice packs, a dozen cans of chicken noodle soup and four gallons of orange juice. He put the oj in the kitchen refrigerator and brought the other bags into the den, where Mark still slept. Milt started to unload the supplies on a nearby table. As he was spreading out the products, McCormick woke up and coughed a little.

"You're back?" he said groggily.

"Yep, I bought all this stuff, not sure what you would want to take, but something here ought to make you feel a little better kiddo," Milt said, pointing to all the products. "I didn't know what you use when you're sick."

Mark rolled over to his side to look at the stuff that Hardcastle had purchased. "Did you really buy all that or are you planning on starting your own drugstore?"

"Listen, if you don't want to take something, that's ok, I was just thinking of you."

Mark sat up a little, "I know," he said sincerely, "I appreciate it, really, it's just the 103 talking. Is there some aspirin over there? Let's just start with that."

Hardcastle grabbed the bottle of Bayer and handed the kid a couple of pills and a glass of water. "Here's hoping it stays where it's supposed to."

McCormick downed the pills and nodded. "I'll drink to that."

"You really look like hell kid," Hardcastle said.

Mark looked at the Judge through his glassy eyes. "You know, you don't look too hot yourself Judge. I hope you're not catching this, but you look sort of flushed yourself, your face is all red."

The Judge touched his cheek and felt how hot it was. "You're crazy," he started to say but as he felt the heat that was emanating from his cheeks, he realized that McCormick was probably right.

"I'm not crazy Judge, I'm just feverish, and I'm well enough to see that you look flushed. I think you're getting whatever I've got," he coughed and shivered. "Bet you got a headache too, don't ya? That's how it started with me." Hardcastle didn't answer. Mark reached over to the table and grabbed the thermometer. He stood up shakily and went into the kitchen and rinsed it off, wiped it down with some rubbing alcohol and then brought it back into the den and plopped back down on the couch. "Ok tough guy, your turn. Open up, we'll go for twenty and see whose temp is higher." Mark handed the thermometer to Hardcastle who momentarily paused and then put it in his own mouth. Mark took the few minutes to put his head back and relax. "See if you can beat 103, twenty says you can't."

Milt anxiously grabbed the thermometer and stuck it under his tongue and began to wait. The prospect of taking $20 from the kid lit up in Hardcastle's eyes, even though the end result would mean he had the flu too. Milt pulled out the thermometer and handed it to McCormick and said, "Now you're cookin' kid," he paused and said, "What's it read?"

"It says we're both cooking for real Judge, burning up actually, but you owe me twenty. Yours is only 101. Face it Kemosabe, you've got it too, but maybe it was just the pizza?"

"It's not the pizza. It's the flu," Hardcastle groused.

"You're right, it's turning into a cold too," McCormick said. "My throat is burning and my nose is getting stuffy." They both groaned in unison.

"You did this to me kid," the Judge said.

McCormick smiled, "Yes Judge, I brought the germs in, with the pizza last night. I've always wanted to feel like this, feverish, cold sweats, hot sweats, worshiping the porcelain throne, yep, blame me judge, I wanted all of this. And then I wanted to pass it along to you. It's been my life's ambition."

They spent the rest of the weekend downing pills, drinking orange juice, eating chicken noodle soup, running to the bathroom, sleeping and going for twenty every couple of hours to see whose temperature was higher.

McCormick's flu began to turn into a bad head and chest cold, while Hardcastle's flu continued to intensify throughout the day on Saturday and into Sunday. Any way you looked at it, both men were miserable. Sleeping seemed to be the only thing that made either of them feel better.

As horrid as Mark felt, he realized that Hardcastle, because of his age, had to be feeling worse. He'd read the magazine articles that said that flu in the elderly could even sometimes be fatal. And the flu portion of the illness was lasting longer in Hardcastle than it had in McCormick. And the last 'temperature for twenty' had solidified that fact. McCormick's temp had dropped down to 100, while Hardcastle's actually had risen to just slightly over 103. Putting his own health on the back-burner, he forced himself to get up and make sure Hardcastle was as comfortable as possible. It was the least he could do for his friend, especially since Milt had been playing nursemaid to him. And for a change Hardcastle didn't put up a fight. He actually was glad that McCormick was around to take care of him.

After a short nap, McCormick woke up to see Hardcastle sitting up in the nearby leather chair, wrapped in blankets, attempting to watch another John Wayne movie. "Judge, why don't you just go upstairs and get some sleep, you might feel better."

Hardcastle just waved him off.

"Here, at least take the couch," he said standing up and wrapping the afghans around his body. He went over to the other chair and sat down. Hardcastle didn't argue, he silently got up and started to shuffle over to the couch to lie down, but this time as he stood up, he suddenly became dizzy and almost fell backwards. McCormick saw it right off and in an instant he had tossed off the afghan and he grabbed hold of Hardcastle's arm and steadied him before he slipped to the floor, possibly hitting his head on the corner of the nearby coffee table. "Steady as she goes, there sailor! I think you took too many doses of Nyquil Judge, you know you're not supposed to drink the whole bottle all at once."

"Even a fever doesn't clam up that mouth of yours does it?" The Judge said, grabbing on to Mark's elbow. "I just got dizzy, that's all, this nausea is ridiculous," he paused, "and I gotta use the bathroom again," the Judge said, starting to walk to the doorway. Mark walked along with him, making sure he stayed upright, till the Judge shooed him away. He stayed standing and pacing in the den till the Judge came back in. Milt immediately went to the couch and lay down.

"You want to try to eat some soup? I'll make you up a bowl," Mark asked.

Milt just groaned at first, but then relented, "Yeah, I'll try some. And bring me some more orange juice too, maybe I can just rinse this bug out of my system."

McCormick chuckled, only Hardcastle would think he could flush the flu out of his system by floating a lake full of fluids into his body.

"What's so funny?" Milt asked.

"Judge, you're not gonna be able to wash the flu away like Draino opens up a clogged sink."

"Listen McCormick, I'm not letting this thing beat me, hec, I could take you right now in a game of basketball. You wanna try it?"

Mark dropped his head in his hands and shook his head no. "No, I don't want to try it, cuz I know you'd probably beat me, even though you probably feel worse than I do, you're just that sort of old-fashioned, grizzled, tough as nails, stubborn, donkey."

"That didn't make any sense at all, but go get me the soup, will ya?"

McCormick got up slowly and trudged off to bring in some reinforcements. He barely got out of the den, when he heard Hardcastle get up and head toward the bathroom. By the time the soup was ready, the Judge came plodding back to the couch in the den.

"I don't want any kid, I don't think I can hold it down."

"You should try to eat something, you don't want to get dehydrated you know?"

"McCormick, do you even know what dehydrated means?" The Judge pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. "Let me sleep will ya?"

McCormick decided not to jaw with him, he'd already been where the Judge was in terms of the flu. He turned on the TV and sat in the chair and tried to eat some of the soup. He kept one eye on the Judge for the next six hours or so, jumping up whenever Hardcastle woke up, ready to get him anything he wanted or doing whatever he needed him to do, despite how miserable he was still feeling. The same thing happened on Sunday. Mark set aside his own health to take care of Milt. And by Sunday evening Milt's fever had finally broken and the head and chest cold was settling in on him. Milt knew the kid had been waiting on him hand and foot and if he hadn't felt so poorly, he would never have allowed it, but it was too much effort to even protest.

Late in the evening on Sunday, Mark was trying to pick up a little around the den, when Hardcastle woke up from a nap and said, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to straighten up, this place is a mess," he answered.

"Well, stop it."

"Stop cleaning up? You want me to stop cleaning up, that's a first." McCormick added a deeply congested cough to the end of his sentence.

"Listen to you! You can't even say two words without coughing. You should be in bed." Hardcastle reached over for a handful of Kleenex and he proceeded to blow his nose.

McCormick plopped himself down in one of the leather chairs. "Alright, I'll stop," he paused, "just to get you off my back. Are you feeling any better at all?"

"Nope, are you?"

"Not really."

"Do you think we'll ever get over whatever it is we got?" McCormick asked.

"Maybe, in a month or so." Hardcastle reached for another handful of Kleenex.

"A month of this?" McCormick groaned and leaned his head back in the chair, then he got up and held up a garbage can for Hardcastle to toss the Kleenex into.

"Listen kiddo, I know you felt lousy all weekend too, but I appreciate that you're keeping things picked up around here and all."

McCormick stopped just shy of setting the bucket down. It was the 'and all' part that got to him. It was few and far between that Hardcastle handed out a thank you or compliment. He wanted to make sure he heard it right. He stopped himself before he made a smart aleck comment. It wasn't the right time. "Well, thank you for getting all the stuff at the drugstore and everything." He added his own off-cuff sort of thank you.

Hardcastle noticed the 'and everything' right away.

Neither of them would just outwardly admit to taking care of each other.

"So forget the cleaning and sit down and relax ok, we'll clean up when we feel better," Hardcastle said with a nodded understanding. McCormick set down the bucket and did as he was told. They both looked in opposite directions away from one another and missed the smiles on each other's faces.

On Monday morning, Sarah came back to work and came into the house through the back door by the kitchen. It was almost 9am when she walked in. She noticed about nine or ten cans of chicken noodle soup in the sink and 3 gallons of empty oj containers on the kitchen table. Empty bowls and glasses stood dirty in the sink. What had these two men been up to she wondered? She left the kitchen and noticed that the house was very quiet and dark. None of the blinds or curtains were open. She called out to the Judge but got no response. Then she called out for Mark and no answer came again. She decided to look around the house. She went into the den and the first thing she noticed was the table filled with the different medications. About half of them were open. The TV was on very quietly and Mark and the Judge were both covered up in blankets, not saying anything. "What is going on here?" She said to both of them.

The Judge was the first to speak. "Don't come too close Sarah, both of us have the flu."

Mark added, "We forgot to call you and tell you not to come today."

"We don't want you to catch this Sarah, it's bad, why don't you go home, we'll call you in a few days," the Judge said.

"Oh nonsense, I haven't been sick in years and unless I stay, Lord knows the two of you will turn this house into a real disaster, which you've actually already started to do. How long have you been sick?"

"I think mine started Friday night," Mark said. "And the Judge got sick the next day."

She went over to both of them and checked their foreheads for fevers. They both were warm. "I leave for a nice weekend and look what happens to you two."

"Oh, we'll be alright Sarah, it's just the flu," Hardcastle said. "We can take care of ourselves."

"On what, soup from a can and some orange juice?" she said.

"And on a collection of cold and flu remedies," McCormick added, pointing to the mini-drugstore on the coffee table.

"You two are the most stubborn men I know," she said. "You're so much alike, you don't even realize it, you're too much," she remarked as she left the room to begin cleaning up the house and taking care of them. As she left the den to fix them up a nice home-cooked meal, she knew the worst of the flu had passed, as she listened to their conversation. The Judge had a new son and Mark had a new father.

"I'm not stubborn," McCormick said, "you're the donkey."

"Yeah, you were the one who thought you could change the oil in the car with a 103 fever, remember that? She's right, you are stubborn."

"You were the one who thought he could beat me in basketball with a 103 fever, remember that? You're such a donkey, I can't believe it."

And on it went, they both still obviously had fevers.


End file.
